


Mea Lucem

by playtherain (orphan_account)



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Dreams, F/F, Fluff, Fluff everywhere, Someone stop me, Tea
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-06
Updated: 2014-11-06
Packaged: 2018-02-24 09:53:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2577248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/playtherain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dreams, tea, and a comforting hand in your own.</p><p>Or: Rose Lalonde becomes your own personal sun.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mea Lucem

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lilonie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lilonie/gifts).



> Fluff for the sake of fluff. Also, lesbians.
> 
> A gift for my dearest, most amazing Rose RP partner, Rie. Hearts 'n junk.
> 
> EDIT: the tea mentioned in this fic is now a real, actual thing. I named it "Mea Lucem" after the fic itself, rather than the name Rose gives it.  
> You may purchase it here: http://www.adagio.com/signature_blend/blend.html?blend=79798#  
> I don't make any profit from this. I created the blend for others to enjoy.

"I presume you have a reason for standing around outside my door at two am?"

Of course Rose would see you. You're not sure why you ever thought you could sneak up on a Seer, anyway. Oh, well. That plan sounded pretty good in your head. 

"Hello, Rose," you say quietly to the door. On the other side, you hear a quiet rustling of fabrics. You know she is waiting for you to answer her question. You know she knows you're having a hard time making up a reason, because "I had a dream about you" is the last thing you want to admit now that you've been caught. 

"Admittedly, I have forgotten my reason of visiting." 

Rose opens her door, a quiet "hmmm" on her lips. A small light behind her in her room is the only source of illumination anywhere, because you tried not to turn on your glow when others were asleep. "Perhaps, if you came in and thought about it for a while, you'd remember." 

You take this as a real invitation, because three years on the meteor have trained you to differentiate between when she's being sincere and when she's playing with you. Stepping into her room, you are vaguely aware that your face is hot and that you are fiddling with the hem of your shirt. You stop immediately. She already has a small kettle in her hands, and she fills it in the sink pressed against the wall. It is hugged by the tall cupboards she keeps her tea in, countless kinds, in boxes and tins and tiny paper bags. Rose was especially good at alchemizing it: tea was a comfort she was long accustomed to. She knew how it worked as if it were her own heartbeat, hugged to her chest like a tiny bird.  
You curl up on her sofa, and you watch her shuffle gently through the tea cupboard. She is quiet. You fiddle with your fingernails. When the kettle whistles, it startles you. Rose retrieves a tiny grey pouch from the cupboard, unfolds it, and sniffs at it. Her painted lips curve upward at the corners, a tiny silver spoon darts in to deposit small scoops of the black tea into matching strainers.

When Rose joins you on her couch, she doesn't speak to you. She sets a steaming teacup down on the coffee table in front of you, cradles her own in her hands, and folds herself next to you. Waiting. The pale green throw she knitted for the couch is soft, and it tickles your palm as you run it over the cushion space between you. You don't like it, but closing the space seems a level of intimacy you aren't sure she wouldn't reject. Rose has always been careful with her affection, and the last thing you want to do is make her uncomfortable.  
You've been glaring at your hand on the throw for the last five minutes, at least. In your peripheral vision, you see one of her hands leave her teacup and come to rest over yours, her fingers lacing with yours.  
Rose doesn't like it when you go quiet. Where silence used to comfort her, it now wears away at her. She once told you it was likely a residual effect of having her mind filled with the voices of Furthest Ring gods. You sincerely doubt Rose Lalonde will ever stop making you worry.

"Do you feel like sharing?" she asks you, her eyes on your joined hands. Rather than answering, you pick up your tea for the first time, inhaling its aroma. Though you know it's black tea, the smell is bright. You almost think it's one of Rose's berry blends, but at the back of your throat you taste something distinctly floral. Though it scalds your tongue, you chance a quick sip. The tea dances across your palette like fireworks, before fading into the calm bridge of a song you might once have played on the piano in your block. It is familiar and wonderful, and you stare into your cup with wide eyes. You feel Rose's smile through the gentle pressure she applies to your fingers.  
"I had a dream about you," you answer her. It is easy now, the sharing, and you notice you are smiling, too. When you started that isn't really clear to you. Your head turns to look at her. She peers at you over her teacup, eyebrows raised.  
"A good dream, I hope?"  
She drinks. None of your apparent awe over the flavour is present in her face, save for a tiny satisfied lowering of her eyelids. "I think so," your lips say. You return to your tea and take another mouthful before you speak again.

"Once, a long time ago, I used to truly believe that you were not real. Not in the sense that you did not exist, but in the sense that the you I saw would not be there, should we ever meet. I do not think it would be too melodramatic to say that I didn't think I deserved the Rose I saw."

Rose's eyebrows lower. She chews delicately on her lower lip, and her eyes narrow just so in the way they always do when she is thinking. It's familiar, and maddeningly endearing.  
"I had often been accused of allowing fantasy to leak into reality, and I supposed that was the case. I recall Karkat telling me rather gruffly that not everything can be a romance novella."  
You feel one half of your mouth quirk upward.

"You are realer than the scalding sands around my hive. There was no pretense around you: you were exactly as you said, exactly as I'd come to believe you were - yet I could never predict you. That is what I dreamed: we were at my hive, you stood in my lawnring with your arms outstretched. The only other person who could appreciate the sun - you became it."  
When you lift your eyes from your cup to look at her again, Rose's face has become uncharacteristically open, and you see quite plainly how she is feeling. Her eyes are warm but focused (you're not sure how long she's been staring at you for) and there is a pleasant, yet muted flush of colour on her cheeks. You get to appreciate the view for a whole second before she kisses you. It is quick, but the fact that she did it at all leaves you breathless.

"You are extraordinary," she murmurs, pressing her lips together into a line. Her pale lavender eyes are fierce now. The smell of the tea wafts up between you, and you glance down at the hand still pressed into hers for just long enough to say "This blend is remarkable. What is it?"  
Rose seems slightly embarrassed at the question; you see this just before her face closes up again, the mask slipping back into place as she recites a list of ingredients. There are Earth fruits in it, but she has incorporated an Alternian berry that she tells you is very similar to Earth blackberries. It also contains jasmine - your favourite flower.  
And then she says "It's called Lady Maryam," and you're totally lost on conversational skills for the moment.

"I love it," you manage eventually, and Rose's smile touches her eyes again.


End file.
